


the impracticality of attractive best friends

by nicole_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attracted to your best friend? Need a solution? Kick his ass, Brawling when neither of you are proficient? Sign me UP, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff and Humor, Intentionally Trope-y, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romantic Comedy, Sexual Tension, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: Ingrid is acting weird. Sylvain is determined to find out why.
Relationships: Blue Lions Students & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dorothea Arnault & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Lorenz Hellman Gloucester & Ferdinand von Aegir
Comments: 25
Kudos: 97





	the impracticality of attractive best friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperpenpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/gifts).



> OK, WHY IS THIS SO LONG. I JUST WANTED THIS TO BE SHORT AND SILLY. GOD DAMNIT. 
> 
> anyway, yesterday I wrote a non-sylvgrid fic so then my brain immediately redirected back to them. This is fine. 
> 
> (points if you spot the two inside jokes from the sylvgrid discord)
> 
> and like, this is an affirmation of the fact that my most consistent writing style is silly fluff so please don't take this too seriously (and stop saying I only write sads @Andi and @Trix)

Something is wrong with Ingrid. She’s been avoiding him for like four days and in the middle of a war when they’re supposed to be close companions that can watch each other’s backs, it makes Sylvain nervous. She still talks to Felix and Annette and Mercedes just fine. She even eats with Dimitri and the Professor one night, but she is certainly not talking to him. 

The first instance of Ingrid being weird is when he finds her and Ashe in the library. They’re laughing together over some knightly tale which Sylvain is sure that he has read at some point or other in his life: he is friends with Ingrid after all. He approaches them quietly, making sure that he is sneaking up on Ingrid. 

Ashe perks up when he notices Sylvain and he raises a hand in greeting. “Hi, Sylvain!” 

Sylvain grins in return. “Ashe, Ingrid,” he greets. 

Ingrid’s shoulders tense. She turns slowly to face him. “Hi,” she says shortly. 

Sylvain pulls out the chair next to Ingrid and sits down next to Ingrid. He drops his arms onto the top of the table and rests his chin atop them, lowering his head to the height of the table. Ashe and Ingrid are both staring at him and he smiles at them. 

“Don’t mind me,” he says lightly. 

The corner of Ashe’s mouth twitches and his gaze darts to Ingrid, but then he drops his eyes back to his own book, reading the next passage aloud. Ingrid shifts next to Sylvain and her knee slides away from his where Sylvain hadn’t even registered that they were touching. He lolls his head towards her and sees that her ears are pink and her gaze is fixed determinedly on Ashe as their friend reads about Loog. 

Slowly, Sylvain catalogues Ingrid’s reaction. She had tensed when he had shown up. Her ears are pink. She isn’t looking at him. She hadn’t seemed to want to touch him where their legs had been brushing. It really isn’t a typical Ingrid reaction. 

He turns his own eyes to Ashe and, out of the corner of his eyes, he just barely catches the flicker of her gaze as Ingrid steals a tiny look at him. Sylvain presses his chin further into the cradle of his arms to hide a smile. 

He’s not exactly sure what’s wrong with Ingrid, but from his perspective, it doesn’t seem to be an entirely bad thing. 

* * *

The second instance of Ingrid being weird takes place in a small war meeting. 

Dimitri and the professor have really synced up their plans since Gronder and the retaking of Fhirdiad, but that doesn’t make the impending task of taking Fort Merceus any easier. The battle map that they have of the fort, a parting gift from Claude and his spy network, is out-dated and there is no way to predict who will be present at Fort Merceus when they lead an all-out assault on the most protected Empire fortress. In retrospect, their plan is really quite stupid. 

Sylvain points out a side gate over a lower part of the wall at Fort Merceus. “What about here?”

Dimitri taps the point on the map and frowns. “It’s not an ideal entry point for anyone except flyers, really.”

Sylvain looks at Ingrid. She is looking at the map too. Her mouth is set in a thin line and her green eyes are narrowed as she analyzes the proposed entry point. 

“You could probably get two battalions over that point before enemy archers regrouped,” she points out.

“Yes,” the professor agrees. “Sylvain, how are your wyvern skills?”

He blinks at the professor. “Uh, I suppose they’re up to par. I don’t usually have a flying battalion though,” he points out. 

She waves off the concern. “That can be fixed.”

“Professor,” Ingrid cuts in. “What about Seteth? He’s already established as a Wyvern Lord and he has the battalion already trained. We’ve taken on the aerial missions before.” Her eyes scan the map for something almost desperately and she relaxes after a second. “Here,” she says, tapping the other entry point, “you’ll need as many mages as you can over here and Sylvain has the Reason skill and the mobility on horseback.”

Sylvain studies the map. She makes a fair point. Having mages at that specific chokepoint would be incredibly helpful, as Ingrid had pointed out, but it is also extremely far away from where she, and Seteth in her proposal, would be deployed. Sylvain can’t help but feel a little hurt that she’d rather fight alongside Seteth than him, one of her oldest friends. 

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees. “Sylvain, I do think that perhaps you should stay and watch mine and Dedue’s backs here.” He nods to Ingrid. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

The professor’s face is a schooled neutral expression, but her eyes land on Sylvain and he reads the summons in them without words. He rises from the table and nods to Dimitri and Ingrid before excusing himself. The professor trails after him and Sylvain waits for her just outside the Cardinal’s Room. 

“What happened between you and Ingrid?” the professor asks as soon as the door closes behind her. 

Sylvain blinks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about."

She looks unimpressed. “Sylvain, what did you do this time?”

He holds his hands up. “No! Really! I didn’t do anything. She’s just been acting strange lately.”

Something clicks for the professor and she sighs, an affectionate smile edging up her lips. “Right, well, you should sort that out. You two are one of our best pairs out there.” 

Sylvain stares at the door to the Cardinal’s Room. “I don’t even know what happened,” he argues. 

She pats his arm reassuringly. “You’re a smart man, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She turns to reenter the meeting room but pauses. “Thanks for the catch on that aerial entry point.”

Sylvain can only stare stupidly as the professor reenters the war meeting. At least he has confirmed his suspicions that Ingrid is acting strangely around him at the very least. He really hopes that whatever this is can get sorted out shortly. 

* * *

Sylvain absolutely doesn’t intend to get into a conversation about marriage with Lorenz and Ferdinand, but they had brewed Seiros Tea and he isn’t stupid enough to pass on one of his favourite blends when Ferdinand is doing the brewing. 

So he finds himself sitting in the courtyard as Ferdinand and Lorenz casually discuss the stronger hints of flavour in the tea, zoning out and staring towards the stable. 

Marianne and Ingrid are both in the vicinity, grooming their mounts and chatting blindly about something or other and Sylvain finds himself watching them instead of listening to Lorenz drone on about the subtleties in the Almyran herbal flavours in the Seiros tea. Apparently, his distraction is unfortunately noticed and the other two noble’s attentions are snatched by Ingrid and Marianne as well. 

“Two beautiful flowers, aren’t they?” Ferdinand says, a smile on his face. “And masters of equestrian arts.”

Sylvain stares at Ferdinand incredulously. “Hold on, what?” he questions. 

Lorenz laughs, placing his teacup down. “Oh come now, Sylvain, I’m certain you’ve noticed the plethora of beautiful and eligible young women that frequent the monastery now. Half of them are courting your King after all, but it is undeniable that Marianne and Ingrid, with their titles, have a better chance than most.”

Sylvain blinks like an idiot and looks back over at Ingrid and Marianne. “Courting Dimitri?”

Ferdinand clicks his tongue. “No, no. Not Marianne for certain. There is no way she desires that sort of attention, but perhaps a smaller title might interest her.” His gaze softens a bit and Sylvain notices that Lorenz’s grip on his teacup tightens. 

“I could certainly see Ingrid pursuing Dimitri,” Lorenz says, changing the subject off of Marianne, who Sylvain is now almost entirely convinced that Lorenz is enamoured with. “You all were childhood friends, were you not? That would be a most beneficial pairing for her house and it would be an easy match for His Highness as well.”

Sylvain frowns. “Dimitri and Ingrid?” He can’t really see it. Ingrid has only really ever treated Dimitri like a prince, not a potential spouse. 

“Yes,” Ferdinand agrees. “Dorothea was telling me about the unsavoury suitor types that Ingrid has had to deal with in the past. I would have suggested Felix, but I suppose he’s already off the table isn’t he.”

Sylvain stands up, feeling uncomfortable. He’s not sure what’s worse between the allusion to Glenn and Ingrid’s engagement or the thought of Ingrid courting Dimitri.

“Speaking of Felix,” he excuses, “I do have to run.”

Ferdinand nods, completely oblivious, but Lorenz’s eyes narrow the tiniest fraction in suspicion. Sylvain stares down the Gloucester noble and takes a pointed glance at Marianne, daring him to voice his doubt of Sylvain. 

Lorenz lifts his teacup back up and takes a sip to hide his annoyed expression. 

* * *

Sylvain is on edge every time that Dimitri gets within a hundred paces of Ingrid for the next three days. Dorothea gives him a weird look over dinner and he quickly stops staring at his childhood friends where they’re eating with Ashe and Dedue. He stares down at his own meal, poking it with his fork. 

“What is wrong with you?” Dorothea asks, not pulling any punches because of course she doesn’t. 

Sylvain blinks at her. “What?”

She waves at him, gesturing to his whole body. “You’re all mopey and tense today. It’s like someone has been walking around poking you with a stick for three days.” 

She turns and glances over her shoulder in Ingrid’s direction where Sylvain had been staring. Her head snaps back to him, her dark hair fanning out in the motion as she raises an eyebrow. 

“No,” Dorothea says, a wicked grin spreading over her face. 

“What?” Sylvain questions. “What are you on about?”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. “Don’t tell me you have feelings for Ingrid.”

Sylvain stares at her blankly. “Excuse me?”

Dorothea smirks at him. “Oh my god, of course you do.”

Sylvain frowns putting his fork down so that he doesn’t drop it on the chance that Dorothea makes another outlandish claim. “No, I’m just trying to figure out why she’s been acting weird.”

Dorothea’s expression slackens into disbelief. “Oh,” she says. 

They sit for a moment in silence, just staring at each other. Sylvain drops his gaze and picks up his fork, spearing a piece of pheasant. Dorothea sips from her goblet and the awkward silence lingers just long enough that Sylvain finally thinks of something just as horribly embarrassing for Dorothea as that last exchange had been for him. 

“So, Ferdinand mentioned that you’ve been talking a lot.”

Dorothea’s head snaps up and her green eyes narrow so quickly that Sylvain is surprised she doesn’t reach across the table and stab him with her dinner knife. 

“ _Not. Another. Word._ ”

Sylvain grins and takes a sip of his own glass. “Aw, come on. Don’t women love a man who is sensitive about his love of horses.”

Dorothea sneers. “Same way that you noblemen seem far too interested in a woman’s ability to love her horse with her entire heart.”

Sylvain pauses and lifts his goblet to her. “To our friends, the ultimate horse-women.”

Dorothea sputters at his classification of Ferdinand, but she taps her cup to his and they both drink heavily. Sylvain wrinkles his nose at the taste of the wine. “God, where did this even come from?”

Dorothea laughs, her head tipping back and her smile widening. “Claude, if I remember correctly. He offered the army Derdriu’s stocks.”

Sylvain scoffs. “Of course he did.” 

* * *

The Ingrid weirdness does not, unfortunately, disappear with time. Instead, there are now six days until they march for Fort Merceus and Ingrid has started leaving rooms when he enters them. Sylvain just wants everything to go back to normal. 

He corners Dimitri and Dedue first. They’re in the greenhouse, but Dedue has notably told Dimitri that he is not allowed to touch _anything_ , so he’s just sitting on the edge of one of the gardens chatting quietly with his retainer. 

“Your Highness! Dedue!” Sylvain greets brightly, walking into the greenhouse. 

Dimitri turns to him immediately, but Dedue is hands deep in dirt and does not turn. “Hello Sylvain, what can we do for you?” Dimitri asks. 

“I had a question for you actually, Your Highness,” Sylvain admits. 

Dimitri looks surprised. “Oh, yes, of course. What is it?”

“Is Ingrid being weird to you as well?”

Dimitri stares at him. “Ingrid? Being weird?”

Sylvain realizes his mistake. Dimitri is one of the most socially oblivious people he has ever had the opportunity to know. He scratches the back of his head and prepares to backpedal out of this conversation to pretend it had never happened. Dedue brushes his hands off and stands up, turning to face Sylvain. 

“Is this about her avoiding you and changing her assignment with Ashe or Annette or Mercedes whenever you two get partnered up for something?” Dedue asks. 

Sylvain snaps his fingers and points at Dedue. “Yes! That!”

Dedue’s lips tilt into the tiniest smiles as he is obviously amused by the situation. “No, Sylvain, I believe that is only around you.”

Sylvain frowns. “Damn.”

“I think Ingrid and Mercedes and Annette were going to the Knight’s Hall,” Dimitri offers as if that solves all of Sylvain’s problems. 

Sylvain nods. “Right, well, I’m going to go ask Felix.”

“I imagine you’ll get a similar answer,” Dedue says right before Sylvain leaves the greenhouse. 

Sylvain decides not to dwell on that idea. 

* * *

Felix is, of course, at the Training Grounds. He seems to be in some kind of strange sparring stand-off against Raphael and Lysithea. Sylvain pauses in the door of the Training Grounds and stares as Felix takes off towards Raphael, swinging his training sword with brutal efficiency. 

Raphael blocks the blow on a training axe and uses his brute strength to shove Felix back. Lysithea then waves a hand and casts a spell, catching Felix loosely in a cage of Dark Magic. Felix groans in irritation and cuts the spell back. 

Lysithea rolls her eyes and folds her arms. “You leave yourself wide open doing that.”

“Well, he’ll have back up on the actual field,” Sylvain chimes in. 

The eyes of all three of his friends turn towards him. 

“Oh, hey Sylvain,” Raphael greets brightly. “We were running some different drills.”

Lysithea huffs. “Apparently since Hubert uses Dark Magic like me, I’m the only one capable of helping out here.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “That was Raphael’s idea,” he reminds. 

Raphael just grins his big dopey grin. “Hey, we gotta be ready, right? Hubert and Edelgard will be tough opponents when we get to the capital.”

Sylvain chuckles at Raphael’s endless optimism. “Right. Can I borrow Felix for a moment?” 

Felix sheaths his sword and walks over to Sylvain. Sylvain turns so that Lysithea stops staring at him and throws an arm over Felix’s shoulders. Felix immediately shrugs it off and Sylvain smiles at the familiarity of their antics. 

Keeping his voice low, he asks, “Is Ingrid being weird around you too?”

Felix just stares at him. 

Sylvain frowns. “What?”

Felix grabs his arm and twists it just until the point of pain. Sylvain jerks his hand back, shaking it out and scowling at his friend.

“What the fuck, Felix?” he demands. 

Felix scoffs. “Knight’s Hall.”

And then he’s turning around and walking back over to Raphael and Lysithea to resume whatever strange training regiment the three of them have developed. Sylvain stands there for a moment. He supposes that if Dimitri and Felix don’t have answers for him, his next best bet is probably Ingrid herself. 

* * *

It’s mid-evening by the time that Sylvain arrives in the Knight’s Hall, but it isn’t any cooler than it had been in the afternoon. The torch sconces outside are lit and there is faint chatter that he can here from inside which means he is probably correct in assuming that at least one of his old classmates is still here. 

He pushes open the door and is immediately assaulted by the image of Ingrid absolutely brutalizing a training dummy with a training lance. Sylvain stands there for a second just watching her smooth motions and the rippling muscles in her back, arms, and legs as she spins and jabs and tears into the dummy in absolutely brutal fashion. 

Sylvain scans the rest of the Knight’s Hall and sees Mercedes and Annette sitting by the fire, flipping through tomes and exchanging whispers here and there. Ingrid seems so completely preoccupied with her training routine that she doesn’t even notice him. Sylvain redirects to the fire pit, plopping onto the couch next to Annette. 

Annette jumps and snaps her book closed on her hand. Her brow twitches and she slowly reopens the book, shaking out her finger. “Hi Sylvain,” she greets. 

Sylvain steals a glance back at Ingrid who has finished tearing up one dummy and is moving onto the next one. 

“Why is she acting like Felix?” he whispers to Annette. “She’s not usually like this.”

Mercedes and Annette exchange a knowing look and Sylvain narrows his eyes as he looks between the two mages. 

“She’s frustrated,” Mercedes offers as if he’s supposed to believe that’s all it is.

Sylvain sighs. “Fine, but why is she treating me like I’m horrible to be around right now? She’s not doing it to anyone else.”

Mercedes pats his arm and Sylvain feels pitied and a bit stupid. “She’s had a frustrating couple of weeks.”

Sylvain looks at Annette who is, historically, the worst liar he has ever met in his entire life. “Annette?”

Annette gives him a tiny grin which tells him that she knows something he doesn’t. “Why don’t you spar with her? Maybe that will be better for her frustration than destroying every training dummy we have.”

Sylvain pauses. It’s a reasonable suggestion, but Annette’s little smile still makes him nervous about anything related to Ingrid. Mercedes smothers a tiny giggle into her hand and Sylvain realizes that he is really not going to get anything out of either of them, so he stands up, heading towards Ingrid. 

He picks up a training lance from the weapons rack and steps in front of her, catching her next blow and blocking it from hitting the training dummy. Ingrid immediately stumbles back, her eyes wide. 

“Sylvain!” She looks completely startled to see him. “When did you get here?”

He chuckles and makes a loose, light jab towards her which she blocks instinctually. “A few minutes ago. Thought you might prefer a sparring partner to a defenceless dummy.”

Her lips purse, but she strikes back at him with a wider swing. “Fine, but you had better keep up.”

Sylvain grins and counters. He steps forward and she retreats, light on her toes, before she spins around him, trying to get behind him. While once Ingrid might have wiped the floor with him thanks to his lackadaisical ideas about training, he has seriously picked up his training during the war. He has her beat in the physical strength area, but Ingrid is seriously quick and it’s only years of training against her and Felix that allow him to read her movements well enough to block most of her strikes. 

Still, Ingrid is coming at him with a vigour she doesn’t normally bring while training and Sylvain is quickly forced on the defensive. He locks the shafts of their lances together and slides in, closing the gap between them allowed by their weapons and Ingrid’s eyes blow wide with alarm. He’s not Felix, so he has no experience with grappling, but her lesser strength has her at a disadvantage here. 

Sylvain, unfortunately, is momentarily very distracted by the candlelight flickering in her green eyes and she frees her lance, dropping the tip and sweeping his legs out from under him in a quick, fluid motion. The training lance catches in the material of his shirt as she draws it up to point at his chin and there’s a ripping sound as it catches on the ties of it. 

Sylvain and Ingrid both study Sylvain’s now ripped shirt. From the fires in the sconces around the Knight’s Hall, the fire in the fireplace, the warm evening, and the exertion from the workout, Sylvain’s next action is done without thinking. 

He pushes aside the tip of Ingrid’s lance and sits up. He strips out of his ripped shirt and stands up, kicking his lance back into his hands as he turns back to her, now shirtless. Ingrid’s lance is still pointing at the ground as she stares at his stomach blankly. Sylvain raises an eyebrow and she quickly turns her head away, her cheeks flaming. 

“Round two?” he suggests. 

There’s a smattering of laughter from over by the fire as Mercedes and Annette giggle at the scene. 

Ingrid doesn’t give him the courtesy of a warning before she’s swinging her lance at his shins. She follows the blow with a slicing upward strike that Sylvain only barely deflects. His own weapon rattles from the force of catching her blow and he steps back. Ingrid follows, staying her course of what appears to be “incapacitate Sylvain as quickly as possible”.

Her blows are quick and rapid and Sylvain is barely agile enough to block half of them. When her lance's shaft smacks across his ribs hard enough to bruise, he lashes out with one of his feet to get her back. Unfortunately, the only thing he succeeds in doing is unbalancing himself as she hooks his foot with a grappling move he has only ever seen Felix use and takes him down. 

Sylvain lands hard on his back in the sand, but Ingrid is not proficient in grappling and doesn’t realize that she has actually given him an advantage. Sylvain jerks his lance along the sang, sweeping her own foot and she comes crashing down after him, landing on top of him. She hadn’t been expecting the blow, so her weapon goes skittering away as her hands land square on his chest. Her legs slide around his hips and then Ingrid is sitting on top of him on the floor of the Knight’s Hall. 

Sylvain stills, his chest heaving from exertion. Ingrid is gaping at him, but she isn’t moving off of him and Sylvain’s attention is unintentionally drawn to the iron of her thighs around his torso and the corded muscles of her forearms where she braces against his chest. Since they’re sparring, and Sylvain is still holding a weapon, he rolls, forcing her over. 

Now he’s pinning her in the sand and he slides his lance up under her chin, effectively ending the duel. He expects Ingrid to laugh and shove him off because it’s so like them to devolve into grappling while sparring, but instead, her whole face turns incredibly red.

Sylvain pauses, staring down at her. She’s embarrassed? It doesn’t really compute why she’s embarrassed unless that she’s really ashamed to have lost to him. 

There’s a scuffle of movement behind them which Sylvain dimly registers as Annette and Mercedes running out of the Knight’s Hall. He’s still staring at Ingrid like an idiot. 

The redness in her face doesn’t fade, but she does shove him this time and he flails and falls back onto his ass. Ingrid doesn’t stand up, but she does curl her knees into her chest and bury her face her hands. Sylvain doesn’t get up either and just blinks at her. 

“Ingy?” he says, testing out a nickname from back when they were children. “What’s up?"

“Nothing!” she squeaks out, lying worse that Annette normally does. 

“Ingrid,” Sylvain says, growing more serious and a little more concerned. “What’s wrong?”

She drops her hands and tries to glare at him, but the lingering redness in her face makes it charming and endearing instead of intimidating like a normal Ingrid glare. “Nothing,” she says again. 

Sylvain sighs. He stands up and dusts his hands off on his pants. He offers her a hand up and she takes it. He pulls her up and she stumbles into him before springing away as if he had burned her. 

“Can we talk about why you’re being weird? We have an important mission ahead of us,” he begins, trying to defuse the situation. 

Ingrid rounds on him, blushing again. “Oh my god, Sylvain, do you have any idea how attractive you are?” she snaps, obviously without thinking. 

Sylvain feels his jaw drop. “Uh,” he stutters dumbly. 

He knows he’s an attractive guy as the amount of female attention he had flirted with when he had been younger had been a very good indication of the fact that he is at least good looking. He had just never realized that Ingrid had noticed. 

She spins away from him, burning her face back into her hands and groaning. 

Sylvain’s eyes skim over her and he takes in her small, wiry form. She’s the picture of a lady knight and she’s an absolute badass. Sylvain’s brain immediately burrows into the ground as he remembers the feeling of her strong thighs caging his torso. Her hair glows gold in the firelight and her shirt clings to her from the sweat accumulated during her workout. 

Ingrid is, as Ferdinand had unfortunately pointed out, incredibly beautiful. 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks. “Because you think I’m attractive?”

She turns back to him, glaring, but she is still red. “If I say yes will you leave me alone and we can pretend this entire conversation never happened?”

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. That’s one possibility, but he kind of likes the idea that he can fluster Ingrid. He smirks at her and steps towards her. Ingrid tenses, but to her credit, she does not run away from him immediately. 

“There’s nothing wrong with finding your best friend attractive is there?” he asks. 

Carefully, with motions as though not to startle a skittish animal, he places a hand on her waist. Ingrid watches him do it, looking mildly alarmed. He steps closer to her again and the adorable blush creeps up her neck. 

“Sylvain,” she warns.

“I mean we have a two-sided problem in that case if it is a problem.”

She blinks, processing his words. “What?”

He grins. “You’re hot, Ingy.” The childhood nickname feels weird paired with the compliment about her physical attractiveness, but he doesn’t regret it. 

Ingrid’s foot kicks out and then Sylvain is falling to the ground again. He pulls on her as he goes down and she lands square on top of him again, this time settled over his hips. She presses an arm against the top of his chest to keep him down in the dirt. 

“Shut up!” 

He laughs. “I’d say you won round three, but you know,” he taps her hips with his hands, “I count this as a win for myself.”

Ingrid swallows visibly and then she leans down and kisses him. The kiss is hard and slightly awkward because she’s still pinning him to the sandy floor of the training pit and then because she jerks away after a second, flailing back as if she had just realized what she had done.

Sylvain grins lazily and tightens his grip on her hips so that she can’t run away from him. “That’s one way to shut me up.”

She bites her lip, looking uncertain, and loosens her grip on him. “Sylvain,” she starts. 

He shakes his head. “Hey, you’ve been avoiding me. Can I talk first?”

She nods slowly and he rubs his thumbs over her hips, trying to be reassuring, but Ingrid just shivers at his touch and his mind almost immediately starts to wander back to the thighs of absolute steel bracketing his hips. 

“I think you’re amazing,” he offers. “You’re badass and beautiful and you’re one of my best friends, Ing.”

She steals a glance at his hands on her hips and then looks back at him. Her green eyes sparkle and Sylvain’s heart flutters. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks quietly. 

“I do,” he agrees. 

Ingrid’s hands loosen until they’re more of a touch than a pin and she shifts, her hips pressing into his. Sylvain’s hands tighten unintentionally and Ingrid freezes.

“Sorry!” she squeaks. 

He feels himself flush a little. Ingrid continues on her previously decided path, leaning down as her hands flatten against his bare chest until she can kiss him lightly, almost hesitantly. Sylvain tips his chin up into the kiss and she responds by putting a little more force into the gesture. 

Sylvain releases her hip and cups the side of her face as he kisses her back. Her lips are slightly chapped and warm and she tastes like the spicy meat they had had for dinner that night. He tightens his grip on her and considers trying to roll her onto her back, but then Ingrid’s hand shoves him down against the sand again as she runs a hand over his stomach. Sylvain grunts and deepens the kiss. 

She opens her mouth to him without thinking and arches into the hand that he buries into her hair and the one on her hip. They kiss blindly and stupidly for a while until Ingrid tears back to breathe, her chest heaving as she stares down at him. 

“Uh,” she stutters. 

“Do you want to go for dinner with me tomorrow?” Sylvain asks before she can dig herself a hole. “On a real date,” he clarifies, just to be certain. 

Ingrid’s awkwardness fades into a shy, cute smile. “I’d like that.” 

She doesn’t move off of him and Sylvain glances down at their situation. She’s still basically sitting on top of him while he’s shirtless. There is no one else in the Knight’s Hall and there probably won’t be tonight since it’s getting later now.

“One condition,” he continues, his thumb tapping her hip lightly. She raises an eyebrow. “Kiss me aga-”

He doesn’t get the words out before she swallows them with a hard kiss. 


End file.
